


The Anatomy of Machines

by starkerinrye



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Boys In Love, Gun Kink, M/M, Pining, Pre-Canon, Psychological Horror, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:14:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24501442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkerinrye/pseuds/starkerinrye
Summary: The epic love story of Sam and Dean Winchester as told by an omniscient narrator with a plan.The boys are faced with a series of psychological warfare.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Kudos: 1





	1. The Ammunition

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so this is wincest, don't like don't read.  
> I don't have time for antis.
> 
> Warnings: mention of suicide. mention of rape, graphic violence, all the good stuff.

Home.

People are fickle, tender, and fragile. They become picky and entitled to where they choose to spend their lives, perhaps this is why some are more successful in life than others. Men have struggled to find their place in the universe, for they are but cogs in the machine. Dust in the wind. I find myself wondering how men such as these are rewarded for their intellect, for their infinite wisdom, or if there is such a prize. Perhaps they are mounted like taxidermy once their short lives reach the end of the line, or maybe they suffer deep and tragic pain.

I suppose though, that I am getting ahead of myself. 

Sam and Dean Winchester. You don't know them now, but you will. They are the men who discovered home on the open road, when nowhere else seemed to fit. Woe to you, dear Reader! You have stumbled across it as well, though I am afraid it is much to late for you. If you wish you learn of home, that is a journey you must face alone, away from this story. I leave you with this:

It begins with ammunition.

* * *

The sounds of rain pelting the windshield and windows rang through his ears. Robert Plant serenaded him softly through the old stereo, it was times like these when he found it difficult to find sleep, even if it was calming. It seemed impossible when the clouds deepened with sorrow and liquidation, as if they were bursting at the seams, leaking and towering overhead like hovering thorn crowns. His brother tightened his grip on the steering wheel, finding it unnerving that the younger just can't seem to sit still.

Somehow, the world seemed so much bigger to Sam. It came as a sudden rush of adrenaline that straightened his form in the front seat of the Impala. Suddenly opportunity bloomed before him, the rain fell with certainty, and Sam understood the meaning of it all at once. It came once _Rain Song_ concluded, Dean hadn't spoken a word, it hadn't mattered in the slightest though. Perhaps right there, on the aged leather was where he was supposed to be. Of course, this hadn't sit well with him. Sam was ambitious, he thought beyond his bubble of life, his twisted and perverted reality, wondered what it was like to attend a school for more than weeks at a time, what a real job must've felt like. Making an honest living, waking up at 7 in the morning to the smell of fresh coffee grounds and the sound of bacon on a range. 

Though, often times, dreamers were punished for striving to achieve more than the limitations they are given. These boundaries are safety nets, much like his older brother, whose strong arms served as both blockage and comfort. It seemed that this was his punishment, that his limitations were personified, manifested in the flesh of his Dean. Like possession, Dean was but putty to Fate, what was meant to be shall be. And it was with this, that Sam understood the certainty of rain, as long as it fell from heavy nimbus, Sam belonged in the Impala.

The sudden silence from the stereo triggered something in Dean, like fishing line, forcing his vision on his daydreaming kid brother. There was something in this scene that felt familiar, palpable, like he could open his wallet and find this photographed, snug behind stolen credit cards and wrinkled dollar bills. Like a distant memory, Sam seemed to shrink into the rain behind the window, soft glow of street lights painting saturated yellows on his cheeks. Maybe he had seen it before, when he were much younger. Though in this moment, Dean was in his twenties, older, wiser, and so he narrowed his vision on the road ahead of him that stretched off the edge of the world. He hadn't known exactly where the two of them were headed, but they couldn't seem to shake the storm.

This was routine for the two men, late night drives with no certain destination. They followed whatever voice called out to them, whatever tugged at their heartstrings, struck fear deep within them. Of course, it wasn't every night that this would occur, for they were only human. It came when they least wanted it to, Sleep grabbed a hold of them, coaxing them to stride with him. He had secrets, wherever he resided, whatever magic he possessed, he always won.

"That's it," Sleep cooed, "now, now." His voice was soft, inviting, like a parental call to obey. Dean was powerless, his knuckles regaining color after they had previously been white, his grip on the wheel loosened. 

"The more you resist, the harder you'll fall" chided Sleep. A glimmer of greed flowed from behind his teeth, how he had pulled the strings that kept Dean suspended, forcing him into unconsciousness. The deity chuckled, he knew he succeeded when the vehicle seemed to drive itself. Sam drank in the silence, found the space in his mind to dream. Sleep had gotten the best of them, collecting their energy and consuming it like a fine wine. With a satiated sigh, the car drove off the road, settling between pavement and swampland. He had won over the Winchester boys.

* * *

Morning came soon after. Though the storm had faded, the remnants of it had settled on the sides of the Impala. Stellar flare cast warm shadows into the dormant vehicle, causing a sudden shift in Dean. He had always been a lighter sleeper than his brother, who remained in a deathly slumber even as the sun shone over them. It was almost hopeful, the lack of movement was something he wasn't used to, and though he needed to press his weight onto the acceleration, there was much work to be done.

He became increasingly aware of the situation, the position of his Baby, slanted away from the cracked black top and sank into mud and grass. It seemed as if they were to be tethered in place, at least until he was able to push Her out with his brother. Of course, this would be a while. 

In the meantime, Dean had felt his hand trace over his abdomen and settling around the amulet around his neck. He couldn't remember a time he didn't have it there, suspended between his breasts like it belonged there. He had been nervous to tune into the radio though, he didn't want to watch Sam stir before he sowed his slumber. Instead, he found himself humming random notes to himself, or to Sam, this he hadn't been able to answer. He soon lost himself here, grip tightening around the amulet and his hums growing louder as he slipped away from reality.

"You serenading me?" Sam mumbled, sleep hanging off his tongue. This image of his brother, hair tousled and nose scrunched, had been burned into his long term memory. It was an image from their youth, a shared memory, but one more fond to the elder. He treasured views like these, where Sam hadn't exactly woken up yet, Sleep's grip on him loose but ever present.

Dean pondered for a moment, nodded, "Yeah, Sammy." His voice was like sandpaper in satin, it was abrasive but tugged at Sam, it became Pavlovian the way he narrowed his stare on Dean in moments like these. Their eyes met briefly, before the older tore his away and focusing on the soft glow emitting from his stereo. "So how'd Christine get us here, hm?" 

Sam shrugged, of course he hadn't known, how could he? Sleep was far too powerful, only matched by the might of God himself. He was able to tower over monsters of all shapes and sizes, because everyone has to sleep, right? Perhaps if they had been able to see the sickly pale, bag of bones, charming drowsy deity, they would have been able to avoid this position. Instead, they figured it best not to ask too many questions. For now, they would allow for the intensity of dawn to fill them, warmth crawling over the backs of their legs as they worked to haul the car back onto the road.

They had been lucky, the two brothers, to have ideal body types fit for this sort of occurrence. It took time, but eventually they settled back into the Impala.

"Where to?" Dean questioned, though mostly rhetorical. Sam only chuckled in return, placing his hand down beside his left thigh, the heel brushing over Dean's fingers as the purr of the engine sputtered back to life. And just like that, they continued forward.

TBC


	2. The Magazine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm pumping this shit out

Habituation is a funny term. It describes the phenomenon of growing so accustomed to something, you don't notice it's there anymore. Maybe it's the scent of your own cologne, or the sound of your partner snoring in their sleep. For Sam, he had grown used to the sound of his brother's vintage car stuttering on the road, or the same cassette collection of classic rock playing on the stereo. Over the years, this had become his life. Sitting shotgun beside his brother once Dean was old enough to inherit the car and drive it himself. Since then, it became a mirror image of his sibling, looking at it radiated this energy that you couldn't really describe, though if Sam were at gunpoint, he'd simply say "bad-ass."

This of course was accurate. The car was Dean's pride and joy, it had been in his life his he was but a thought in John and Mary's heads. He spent his time, when he wasn't learning to clean his firearms or studying lore of beasts, searching every inch of machinery on that piece of late 60's history. No doubt this car had been driven through Vietnam protests, seen Woodstock, hell, Dean would've driven there himself if he'd been alive. This was his cherry red '58 Plymouth Fury, center of his ego, placed above the women he seduced. Of course, this car wasn't possessed with a dark and evil magic like the Plymouth, this was just a part of his history. He knew it inside and out, so cleaning her up from the ditch was simple.

Sam, meanwhile, was sat on one of the two queen sized mattresses in their motel room, the one closest to the door. He stared absentmindedly at the television in the corner that looked as if it hadn't been dusted in a few weeks. One thing his body hadn't been used to, was the idea of sleeping in different rooms for most of his life. It became difficult to sleep if he wasn't drained of all life energy, when Sleep didn't have the key to their motel room (though, sometimes he did). He still had on his flannel and jeans that he had been wearing since yesterday, the same outfit he fell asleep in. And while his brother was outside in the parking lot washing the exterior of the Impala, Sam peeled off the clothes with the intent of hauling himself into the shower that had probably been white once.

He couldn't complain though, for all the grim, and the remnants of past guests in this very room, the water pressure made up for it. Steam filled the small room, fogging up the mirror so that Sam couldn't find his reflection. Sam often times found himself more inclined towards self health than his brother had, he strayed from consuming absurd amounts of grease and oils, and using travel sized herbal shampoos and conditioner for his shaggy hair. It was a contrast between himself and the life of hunting he lived on a daily basis, somehow giving him solace. He gave himself a generous amount of time standing beneath the shower head, it reminded him of the night before in which he watched the rain dance for hours, as if it had no intent of stopping. It was only when he turned the handle back to its origin when he fell back to reality and out of his imaginative daydreams. 

Upon exiting the bathroom, adorning only a damp blue towel around his waist, he was met with a worse-for-wear Dean flipping through their father's journal in the opposite bed. The visual reminder that he wasn't alone with his thoughts was comforting, if he didn't have this anchor, there would be no telling where his mind would wander and what troubles he might find himself caught in. 

Without thinking, Dean looked up from the barely coherent chicken-scratch that was his father's writing, his eyes being met with a vision in blue. His younger brother stood with his back turned as he sorted with his limited belongings, refolding them and finding clothes that didn't reek of musk and blood and proceeding to pull them over himself, only after dropping his towel. 

This was not something taboo, they were brothers, there was no longer any physical traits they hadn't known like their own. There was no need for privacy, and they had no room for embarrassment now. It happened without a second thought, suddenly naked and damp and unapologetic. Though, despite this being something of a common image for Dean, he couldn't help but stare. 

Dean's gaze, though, was like drills into the other's back. Sam almost knew what was happening behind him as he buttoned his jeans over himself. Of course, before he rotated, Dean forced his jaw closed. It had happened before he really had a chance to process what it was he was gawking at. His _brother._ He shook the thought and eased himself off the stained mattress and to the bathroom, which at this point was still steamy. Here, he really had a moment to think about why his heartbeat accelerated, or why his pants felt tighter. Free from judgment, but his own guilt was ever consuming, his confidence deflating, and inevitably exiting with shame hanging low over his head.

* * *

Not long had really passed since then, Sam was falling in and out of consciousness as he scanned over old and dusty hard covers laid out and open in front of him. Dean stretched, and his joints cracked in appreciation as a heavy groan escaped his lips.

"I'm gonna go grab us some dinner," Dean stated, reaching for his keys that chimed with the smallest movement. Sam only hummed in response once the door had closed. 

Once he was sure the room was locked up, he soon left the area, knowing that he had a lot to reflect on. Subconsciously, he was punishing himself for the occurrence from about a few hours ago. The vision was normal, but his thoughts were nothing short of desperate and hungry. He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, before returning his attention to the road, following the signs that led to a local fast food joint, and grabbing burgers and a salad for his younger brother, passing on his stolen credit card to the woman behind the borders of the interior. Once the exchange was over, he gave her a toothless grin, as if to say "Thank you!" except nothing came out. 

It was as soon as Dean neared the motel, that a new entity appeared, unbeknownst to him of course. Temptation grew to life, manifesting in the form on a woman who stood at a sturdy five foot six, her chest exaggerated almost to defy the laws of science. She wore a tight black blazer over a cropped red shirt, exposing her darker skin that had no signs of flaws. She, as opposed to Sleep, was filled out. Her legs were all muscle, thick but firm. Her hair fell into luxurious curls that almost looked unrealistic, and her eyes were misty, with little to no life in them. If she had made herself visible to Dean, perhaps the ignition would turn off, music turned way low, and clothes thrown over the seat as their breaths coated the windows in fog like natural curtains for privacy.

She wasn't visible though, she had a purpose here. She could sniff out desire like a blood hound, especially sinful desires. It smelled like cinnamon and alcohol, the stronger the better. If sinful desire had been a "girl drink" it would've been made with the lethal dosage of vodka, dusted over with coat of cinnamon. It consumed him, overpowering his natural scent of oil and musk. That alone had Temptation foaming at the mouth. She grabbed hold of the older Winchester's shoulder and whispered: "drive." 

Instinctively, the car sped up as they passed signs that read the speed limit and attractions nearby on bold green backgrounds. Despite being unaware of Temptation, who now sat shotgun, Dean felt as if he were not alone. He muttered to himself in Latin, as if he were fearful of some odd new species of demon that had some sort of chameleon effect. This of course, was not the case. Not enough spells would be able to expel her from his presence, she was sent here for a reason. Temptation listened in and laughed, if Dean could only hear her cackle like an elderly witch from children's Halloween specials. "You Winchester boy truly are arrogant," she spoke to herself. "You think you know everything there is to know about the creatures that share your Earth."

He had grown tired of her presence not being known, snapping her slender fingers to reveal herself. Dean's eyes only widened in response, and he heard his blood thumping in his ears. The sound of her voice was silenced under his own fear. _Is this my punishment?_ he thought to himself, _Is this how I die?_

"Darling, you think too loud!" Temptation proclaimed, mockery haunting her voice. Something incarnated right there and then, somewhere in the center on Nebraska, in the 1967 Chevrolet Impala, in the passenger side. Something hideous, something malevolent and tyrannous. Dean was oblivious, as was Sam who now slept soundly, fully clothed and starving. Nobody on Earth, mortal or not, knew of the reality of horror that was waking beneath their feet. All would be revealed, all would know the truth. No longer, would they live in the shadows. Not even the brothers would be immune to the absolute power that would overtake the entirety of life on the planet. 

Temptation's words were filled with venom. Soon it would settle into Dean's system, hurrying to fulfill her purpose. She raised her bare legs to prop up her feet that were fitted with jet black heels, three inches in height. "We've got work to do."


	3. The Grip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mentions of non-con, proceed with caution

There is promise in silence, some unspoken bond between what is and what could be. Someone could translate this into something legible, tangible, comprehensible, but at present, it's all confidential between humanity and divinity. The silence drowned the company within the car, nothing was said, no one twitched. The noise erupting from the stereo was consumed by the entity, Dean might've attempted to speak, only to be met by the force that was the quiet. 

Perhaps there was something easing its way into his bloodstream at this point, Temptation's firm grip around him forced his weight onto the acceleration, finally arriving at the motel after some short time. If someone had watched him, he might've gotten a fine for speeding, nothing could've saved him from that other than sheer luck. So there he stood, wallet still cold, opportunity began to blossom before him, something he had seen before, but never like this.

I could begin to describe the aura of this scene, a push of a button, the cease of fluidity in time, the hunger that burned in his throat. If this had been a Norman Rockwell piece, it would've been in dull tones, expressions almost predatory and filled with adrenaline of the worst kind, the sort that went straight down and then further. It had spelled disaster the moment the shorter, older Winchester stepped before the aged wooden door of their motel room. If I had been in any mood to intervene, I might have done just that, but honestly? I probably wouldn't have. Dean had a purpose, Temptation had only been the last straw. The hushed hues began to swirl into movement, I would say, his white-knuckled fist sequencing the beginning of the rest of Sam Winchester's life, the headline, the title card, the hit single. 

Sure, I could explain what it was that had occurred behind that door, but what sort of Father would I be to allow such a thing? 

It was simple, though. Dean had begun by forcing his grip around his little brother's throat, tightening the more Sam had tried to plead against it. Blue and purples flushed across his face as he fell limp at his brother's hand. The actions that followed began with Dean wrapping the tie from his fake FBI attire around Sam's wrists and proceeding to tug down the jeans and underwear from his lean and lanky body before shoving Sam's underwear in his mouth. It had been straightforward, a fluid idea, a liquefied action, Dean had achieved his most sinful desire. Sipped and nursed it like the cocktail it had truly been, savoring the bitter-sweetness, relishing in the empty promise that manifested within the silence.

Desire had overtaken him, spilling onto these pages like blood from a fresh wound. It was enough for me to tighten the strings that held him up, pulling them to form a perverted smirk across his face. His unconscious baby brother, covered in small patches of bruises and hickeys. Ones that came from overwhelming passion, others from pure and uncapped hunger and rage. 

* * *

By the time Sam had awoken, Dean had left the premises, taking his beloved Baby with him. The man was left to panic in solitude, ponder over where these wounds had come from, how much he had to drink the night before. His breath hitched, he could have sworn the scent of his brother was etched into his skin. It wasn't too hard for him to put the pieces together after the obvious bone I threw at him. 

He waited for the anger to take hold, only to discover that it would never come. Sam would have to settle for disappointment, had he wanted to be awake and alert for the events of last night? Probably, after all, I had crafted his brain. 

It would stir up some discussion upon Dean's return. But Sleep had beaten Temptation to the scene this time. Possessing him, overpowering his free will, collapsing onto the floor where he would be presented to his older brother hours after. A gift from me, addressed to Dean Winchester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's so short, i just wanted to update before i lost motivation. ily


End file.
